


Haze

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-07
Updated: 2003-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I never said anything because I didn't want you to feel trapped," he says, and shrugs.</p>
<p>"Billy." There's something in Dominic's tone that makes Billy raise his eyes. "Didn't you ever think maybe I wanted to be trapped?"</p>
<p>Billy stares at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haze

**Author's Note:**

> Just moving some stuff over from Livejournal.

The expression on Dominic's face when Billy opens the door is meek and shy; the sort of half-hopeful half-frightened look one might find on a blushing teenage girl on her very first date. (Billy remembers that look vividly, though it's been a long time since last he's seen it.) His actions are similar - he shuffles his feet (side to side, _cross_ , side to side, _cross_ ) and fiddles with the hem of his (thin, almost see-through white) t-shirt, head tilted downward, looking up through his eyelashes. He is the very image of modesty; of submission.  
  
It doesn't suit him.  
  
Billy cocks his head to the side, fingers gripped tight on the door frame. 'Something's off' flits through his mind, but he dismisses it because _yeah_ , no kidding.  
  
"Are you planning on staying out there all evening?" He asks finally, after the breeze has died down and Dominic's honey-tipped hair (caught, turned brightbright gold, by the last orange rays of the late summer sun) has stopped blowing about.  
  
Dominic blinks (top and bottom lashes tangling, weaving together for a fraction of a second before parting ways again) but doesn't look up. "I didn't think you'd. Uh."  
  
"Want to see you?" Billy finishes.  
  
(Shuffle-shuffle- _step_ -pause.) "Yeah."  
  
It isn't hard, Billy thinks, to border on mental telepathy when everything's so obvious.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Ah. Reaction.  
  
Dominic's head snaps up (whiplash fast), confusion evident in his eyes. "Because I didn't-"  
  
Billy holds up his hand. "No. I know why I wouldn't want to see you. I mean, why are you here?"  
  
Which isn't entirely true, because what he really wants to ask is 'why did you go with him, why didn't you come home with me, why him, _why him_?'. But 'why are you here?' is just as valid a question.  
  
Almost.  
  
Dominic's sigh blends seamlessly with the rapidly cooling air, and suddenly, Billy's not too sure (that he can take it) that he wants to know.  
  
"Look," Dom begins (step- _sway_ ; and grab onto the railing), "I didn't sleep on the plane, and I'm really... could we just..." He gestures towards the doorway, past Billy and through to the living room behind him.  
  
"What would you have done if I'd slammed the door in your face?" Billy asks, not (giving) moving an inch.  
  
Dominic chuckles wearily. "Stepped out in front of traffic? Thrown myself off a bridge? I don't know, Billy. It took enough out of me just to buy the fucking ticket; I didn't even think of that until I got here." He pauses; rubs the back of his hand over his eyes. "And by then it was too late anyway."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Are you going to?"  
  
Billy runs one hand through his hair. "No bridges for miles," he says, leaning around to look past Dominic into the gloom, "and not much traffic."  
  
"Yeah." He tilts his head towards the door again. "Can we..."  
  
Billy (can't move, can't fucking turn away) hesitates. Lets his gaze travel up and down Dominic; zeros in on the worn leather of the bands (cuffs; but no, because cuffs mean possession and possession doesn't figure into the equation any more) around his wrists (remembers sweatsticky nights when his fingers would trip across those wrists, would pin them down to the bed, would... but no).  
  
He shakes his head ( _not any more_ ) and takes a step back.  
  
"Yeah," he says, and turns his head, looks away. Peers into the living room, glances at the kitchen, glares at the wall just to the right of the doorway; notices how bright and in-focus everything suddenly is.  
  
Shifts his gaze back to Dominic, and watches his vision blur.  
  
"I'll. I'll, uh, just get us something to drink, yeah?" Without waiting for a response, he strides into the kitchen and wrenches the refrigerator open (too hard; he lets go of the handle and the door flies into the wall), eyes prickling at the rush of cold air.  
  
Walking back into the living room, a beer in each hand, Billy finds Dominic lounging on the couch, looking at something in his hands and smiling softly (mostly in his eyes; the only trace of it anywhere else is in the tiny upward curve of the corners of his mouth).  
  
"That was a good day," he murmurs.  
  
With a jolt, Billy realizes what he must be looking at.  
  
The picture, a black-and-white 4x6 in a simple silver frame (Billy can't see it but he knows that's the one), has been sitting on his coffee table for far too long; he's meant to put it away (in a half-full box that's sitting in the back left corner of his closet, buried under a pile of clothes) for ages, but something stops him every time he goes to pick it up.  
  
So there it's stayed, the tiny image-versions of himself and Dominic (wrapped around each other in full costume, both of them fast asleep; Peter had given them an hour's break and Billy had managed to convince Dominic that a nap was, in fact, the best way to spend the time; Orlando had decided that he'd rather spend it taking possibly incriminating pictures) mocking him every time he looks at it.  
  
"Yeah," Billy replies without feeling. He moves to sit in his chair and hands Dom a beer.  
  
"Thanks," Dominic murmurs distractedly, one finger tracing lightly over the glass covering the picture.  
  
"Why're you here?" Billy asks again.  
  
"I missed you," Dominic answers, then looks up and straight into Billy's eyes, setting the picture back down on the table. "I really... I missed you."  
  
"What, you got sick of Elijah?" Billy says.  
  
Because, after all, Billy knows, this is what it's all about; about California about Elijah about Dom being _there_ and not _here_ ; but then again, why not?  
  
Why not indeed, Billy thinks, and feels two months' worth of anger bubbling to the surface.  
  
Dominic's eyes flash. "Damn it, that's not fair."  
  
Billy settles for scoffing derisively.  
  
"There was never anything between us." Dominic pauses. "Me and Elijah, I mean."  
  
"You could have," Billy replies (the acid in his voice burning his lips as it passes over them), "fooled me."  
  
"Well, you're pretty fucking _stupid_ sometimes, Billy; it wouldn't be hard."  
  
Billy stands, slamming his bottle on the table next to him. "What the fuck does that mean?"  
  
"This," Dominic answers, and, standing, presses his lips firmly to Billy's.  
  
Billy blinks, falters (step- _sway_ ), almost falls backwards, but Dominic's hand around his waist keeps him steady.  
  
Against his will, his hands trail up Dominic's back and tangle loosely in his hair as the kiss deepens; as Dominic opens his mouth and Billy slides his tongue over Dom's bottom lip; as Dominic rubs his hand over Billy's lower back as his eyes fall shut and he moans softly. (And it's funny that this feels the same; not just the kissing but _everything_ ; as though they'd never left off.)  
  
"God," Dominic murmurs (the vibrations against Billy's lips cause them to tingle), "I missed you so much. Missed this."  
  
Billy contemplates (throwing himself at Dominic; pushing Dom down onto the couch and seeing if his hands remember things as well as his lips do) agreeing, but sighs and pulls away instead. (Not that easy.)  
  
"Why?" He asks finally (fully aware that it's a rather loaded question).  
  
"You never said anything. About... us. And Lij offered to let me stay with him, and... but nothing ever happened between us, Billy. You have to believe that."  
  
Of course; of course he'd take it the right way.  
  
Billy smiles despite himself.  
  
"I never said anything because I didn't want you to feel trapped," he says, and shrugs.  
  
"Billy." There's something in Dominic's tone that makes Billy raise his eyes. "Didn't you ever think maybe I wanted to be trapped?"  
  
Billy stares at him.  
  
"Do you?"  
  
After a pause that stretches several eternities, Dominic nods. "More than anything."  
  
And then, whispersoft: "I'm sorry."  
  
Billy glances at the picture sitting on the table; it stares unblinkingly back at him. Raises his gaze to Dominic, but this time, Dominic looks him in the eye; hands unmoving in his lap, chin raised proudly, almost defiantly.  
  
"I." Billy stops. ('I' what? 'I love you?' 'I can't believe I'm letting myself get into this again?' 'I've missed you so fucking much that sometimes it hurts to breathe and I hate you for it?' 'I want you out of here?', or, conversely, 'I want to fuck you until the bed collapses?') "Stay?"  
  
Dominic exhales deeply. "Yeah?"  
  
And Billy realizes that Dominic's wearing the same expression as (how long has it been - fifteen minutes? twenty? several years?) earlier; eyelids at half-mast and his bottom lip between his teeth. It doesn't suit him any more now than it did then (whenever _then_ actually was; time seems to have paused, or sped up, or something), and he feels compelled to wipe it off his face.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
And that does it. Dominic's smile (weary and tired, but a smile all the same) lights up his whole face, and Billy can feel the corners of his lips tugging upwards as well.  
  
Then, somehow (step- _sway_ , on both parts), they're falling into each other again, but this time it feels like hope instead of remembrance.  
  
And through the haze, Billy thinks that feels even better.


End file.
